


Teal

by r0adhog



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0adhog/pseuds/r0adhog
Summary: 1982. Stanley has no money, friends, family or the likes. He is in debt and homeless, but trying to get back on his feet. Receiving the postcard from his brother after 10 years of silence had helped but what had followed sent him back into his state of depression and cluelessness.(more info in author's note)





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

> this is quite old and i've gotten more interested in it, so i'm editing and updating it.  
> it uses weird/sloppy language so i apologize for that. i wrote the bulk of this when i was 16  
> edited for language/grammar c 2018

Looking back at the events that he had just caused Stanley openly wept. Holding his brother's glasses he had been kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his bearings. If he could've just controlled his temper, if he just would have taken the book and left like he was instructed, maybe this wouldn't've happened.

All he could think about is the look on his face when he pushed him past the safety line, he couldn’t concentrate on much else. He’s just the deadbeat brother, the family fuck-up, the family disappointment. He hit all of the ticks that would make him so. High school dropout, queer, fraud, lawbreaker, idiot. He was nothing short of a villain and a bad influence in his own eyes and likely in his family’s. He isn’t expecting Stanford to immediately forgive him or anything of the sort, but he did hope that they can talk things out and get to know each other again, to be the friends and brothers they didn’t get to be when they were young adults, if and only if Stan can fix the mess he’d created for them.

The soft teal glow from the universe portal had long since faded, and the only light left in the room was coming from the staircase that led to the surveillance room. Soft electronic droning filled the air and at the moment it was the only sound until Stanley had sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. He pocketed his brother's glasses and stood up. His throat hurt already from yelling, and his back was seared and sore with a hopefully-not-permanent reminder of his stupid, careless mistake. It stung like hell, and he could barely move his shoulder because of it.

At first he tried a direct approach, to try to switch back the big lever in the middle of the floor. When that proved to not work he tried to emulate the sequence of knobs, buttons, and switches that he had accidentally pressed. He did everything that had just happened in the same order but there was no response. He had no idea what he was doing wrong until he had noticed that the fuel dial was on empty; God only knows what it takes to fuel this contraption. The machine smelled like it was burning, so maybe it overheated or something of the likes. Maybe that was normal, he didn't know. All he knew was that he just had to get Stanford back by any means necessary.

He looked through the book that had been thrown at him and he didn't really understand any of it. All mythical beings he'd heard in urban legends and fairytales. That was what was so important? That's why his brother abandoned ship and moved across the country? This list of fairies and spectres was the reason he would never see him again. He considered burning it but that would only inhibit him from getting that portal up and running. He needed some serious help if he wanted to use this. He didn’t even know where to start, what with getting help from whom? He didn’t know any of the locals, out of them which ones would even know how to operate this contraption or understand this book? Could anyone, at all, help?

This book had a page for everything. Ghouls, goblins, unicorns, you name it. Stanley payed very close attention to every detail that Ford wrote, nothing too small to be overlooked. There were assortments of indecipherable symbols and jumbled up letters that were hard to read. In fact he couldn't read any of them. He never knew his brother was such an amazing artist. These pages have so many stunning illustrations, Ford must've spent eons working on this skill. He was very coordinated and almost antithesized Stanley. Ford always acted cautiously, it must’ve taken a while to muster up the nerve to summon him. Stanley thought there had been more than met the eye.

His eye! Has he “come to steal my eyes?” What did that mean? He didn’t ask for an explanation at the time, but Stanley was worried for his brother’s health. Was he eating right, taking care of himself, feeling emotionally okay? He didn’t ask those so important questions, but it was safe to assume a negative answer for all of them.

"Continued in Journal 2.” Those words stared at him from the page and made him question himself. Why would Stanford want to bury his research? More importantly why would he want Stanley to bury his research? He thought maybe this was a cry for help, that Ford didn't really want to see him off. All of those times he'd tried to call him but hung up, all of those ignored postcards, pictures, he was so guilty. How could he do this to his brother? The same brother that he shared his most precious moments with. Stan betrayed his brother in a way that made him feel like a monster, carelessly.

Not only that but why did Stanford want him to bury only one journal? It could've been taken care of easily by him, so it didn't make a drip of sense that he'd give Stan this one to hide. With every desperate attempt he made to understand only came imminent failure. When he received the postcard he thought that perhaps Ford had wanted to fix their tattered relationship after all these years, to discuss and understand each other's' standpoint on what had happened between them in 1973. No, he wanted him to get rid of his research that he worked his ass off trying to document over the span of years they spent without contact. He just didn't understand why the second his brother called him back he wanted him as far away as possible. He was barely able to comprehend what he had been scouring for useful information, anyways. It’d be impossible for him.

After shuffling through this book for hours he couldn't barely keep his eyes open. He walked upstairs to search for Ford's bedroom and he lay to have a sleepless night, bothered only by the sound of snow stockpiling on the roof and the troubles of his thoughts.

Stanley finally got up after being tired of not sleeping, greeted by darkness. His wristwatch read 5:53 AM. Snow had piled up so much overnight it blocked every window in sight. He wiped his face with his hand and attempted to switch on a light. It was no use, the electric was down as well. He’d figure that Ford would have a backup generator, considering all of his tech, but this obviously wasn't the case.

As he sulked down the hall he wondered how the other citizens of Gravity Falls had been holding up in this weather. He saw only a small handful of people when he came through, so they must've either evacuated or stayed in in preparation for this storm. He hoped the children didn't miss too much school, which reminded him of how his academic career had been. He wasn't too bright but he had his brother to help him where he struggled and to copy notes from if he so needed them. He'd never finished high school which was among his (formerly, compared to now) biggest regrets.

He'd probably need to find something to eat considering he hadn't eaten in a week before he got there. Everything he had seemed to require some kind of cooking, which unfortunately requires electricity. Stanley finally found a bag of marshmallows to chomp on as he read. He dropped the journal and marshmallows on the kitchen table and opened it back up to a spot he was particularly befuddled by. It looked like some sort of map, but it was incomplete. Maybe another journal had had the other missing piece or pieces. But where was it? He didn't know the first place he should look and it didn't look like he could do much looking outside judging by the amount of snow blocking the front door, or inside for that matter, due to the lack of light.

In a moment of ultimate genius he had the idea to pinch himself and see if he was dreaming. It stung, which signified that he obviously wasn't.

He returned to his more urgent line of thought. A bookshelf seemed too obvious of a place to hide his research. It could be buried out in the yard? It'd be a mess of bleeding ink by now if it was. If it's there, it's history.

Everything seemed hopeless, until he heard the landline ring. He assumed that would be down too without checking so he rushed to it in excitement.

"Hello?”

"Stanford? Are you okay? That storm escalated terribly overnight, I sure as hell didn't expect my windows to be white this morning." a voice with a darling southern accent said. Who was this?

"Uh, Stanford can't come to the phone right now. We're okay though."

"Oh, okay? Who is this, might I ask?"

After a short pause of thinking what to say, Stanley decided to tell him the truth about his situation.  
“Stanley, his brother. Same for you?"

"I'm Fiddleford. We worked together on some projects. Wow, I didn't know Stan had any brothers! How old are you?"  
_Fuckin' two birds one stone. Ford didn't tell anyone about our family at all, not even about purehearted little Shermey._

"I just turned 26, in October."

"Are you Stanford’s twin? That’s when his birthday is, too. Do you need any help holding down the fort? It wasn't completely finished as far as I can remember, so you might run into some leaks. Can't really travel much in this frozen blanket, though, can we?"  
_An average Susie talks a lot. With Ford gone I do need help with the portal. He might be able to help me._

"Not really. Traveling, I mean. This town'll be flooded by the time the snow melts."

"When the snow dies down, I'll pop by. Is your power down?"

"It's sure as hell not up."

Fiddleford chuckled. He sounded nervous. "You're a real joker ain't'cha? It was nice meeting you, Stanley. Can you tell me when Stanford comes around? It's very important that I speak with him."  
_If Stanford comes around._

"Yeah, I'll tell 'im to call. He needs some help in the other room, so I've gotta run. Cya."

Click.

 

Next morning, he sure wished birds chirping could replace the loud-as-hell howling of the wind. He still hadn’t gotten any sleep and was running very low on energy. Like a zombie, he had been moaning and groaning as he got up from his brother’s mattress. It was too bad the wildlife were already in hibernation. He sure wished he could have joined them. Alas, he had to do his best to help his twin.

He tried his luck switching on a light switch and to his dismay it hadn’t worked. He was sure that this place would get power back last, it was very remote from the rest of the town. Maybe tomorrow, he figured.

Stanley trotted down the staircase to Ford’s laboratory and continued trying to investigate these alien machines, wondering if he’d get them running ever again.  
He just couldn’t help the tears trickling down his cheeks, the trail they’d left stung in the cold. The electric was off, he’d remembered, so the heating had to be as well. Stanley, wallowing in his own lack of self-worth, decided he should start work on this impossible project instead of blubbering around like a cat without a tail. He made mental notes to himself to study basic physics, engineering, and electricity if he wanted to learn the ins and outs of this portal, only then could he be the hero that was warranted by his own actions. He had to find out what exactly each individual machine even did, then he had to figure out how it worked, then he had to figure out how to make it work, then he needed to find fuel, and then he had to spend decades of his life trying to find what he missed so dearly. His long list of duties felt bogus. No other families had this degree of drama. He couldn’t know what he would say to Ford’s other friends, and even worse their family.

_Oh, sorry, I messed up our lives by pushing my twin brother across the safety line that was painted in an obvious, obnoxious, blaring yellow, possibly dooming him to God-knows-where. But it’s alright, because I’m trying my hardest to fix it and I’m trying to hold myself accountable for my actions!_   
_Bullshit._

It was bullshit and he knew it, but he couldn’t make himself come up with something more legitimate or something even passable as remotely okay. In all honesty he doubted he would ever get his brother back. It was petty of him to have pushed him in the first place. He caused it, he better pay for it and try to fix it, he reasoned to himself. Fixing it was very hard in 20 degree weather without anything to stay warm, besides his brother’s coat that was far too small for him. Stanley couldn’t find any matches or lighters or anything that could really start a fire aside from a pair of cheap chopsticks left over from sometime weeks ago.

His day was uneventful, just full of disappointment and the fierce cold. He’d wished he’d remembered his parents’ phone number so he could call them and pretend to be Ford, hear their voices for the first time in years. He briefly considered ringing up that Fiddleford, just to gush about his life and have someone, anyone, to talk to about it. He realized he shouldn’t bother him, he doesn’t have Ford’s address book and he’d only be a nuisance anyways. He decided against it.


	2. Week Two

The snow had melted halfway. Roads were navigable but the vert of the grass was still hidden and the fauna of the region were still in hibernation. The snow melted and then froze again to just absolutely cover everything in ice. The electricity was back up, though, which was a pretty okay silver lining.

 _'Groundhog must've been scared shitless by its shadow,_ Stanley figured.

Speaking of the devil, he had managed to pass out while he was reading. A very small man with a pointy red hat and a beard had been trotting around the house while he was asleep. Unbeknownst to Stan he was tying his shoelaces together so he couldn't do anything when he stole some food out of the refrigerator. The tiny, tiny man skipped over to the fridge and jumped to try to reach the handle. He couldn't reach. Maybe if he stacked some things under him, he thought. What was good for this again? Phonebooks, tupperware? None of these things were in the house. The only book that was on a surface he could reach, as he looked at it now, had been the one Stanley had fallen asleep over. Perhaps he could use it, but he has to find something else more plausible first.

"C'mon, now! Come to papa!" he said, reaching high and jumping.

With a couple of magazines stacked up the handle was just out of his grasp. He'd stacked up every magazine he could find and it still wasn't enough. It was only about three or four inches from his petite hands so he knew that he could do it if he just had enough height, but given his predicament that wouldn't be much of an option.

He huffed in defeat and turned around to sit on his stack of books. He averted his eyes to the giant snoring man and thought he’d implement his brilliant idea. Huffing and puffing, the gnome pushed his stack of magazines towards a chair that was at the same table as the full-sized man. He climbed up that stack and tried to jump up to get a grip on one of the chairs. He jumped a few times before he finally was able to grasp the seat to hoist himself up. Perfect plan, but now he had to get to the table itself.

He jumped and jumped but he couldn't reach it. He tried to get as much of a running start as you could get on a chair, but that hadn't worked either. The gnome had jumped once more. When he made contact with the chair again, he slipped. He fell sideways directly on Stanley's thigh, gripping it for dear life. He climbed onto his leg which was perfect height for him to jump up.

He made it up to the table, finally. He pushed the book away from being in front of Stanley and closed it as quietly as one could a colossal brick of pages. He was so excited! This is the first time he has access to food since he got banished from the gnome colony! Butterfly trafficking was a serious crime, but it put food on the table for him, his husband, and child. It was very well worth it to be banished. The gnome had thought of maybe living here. He was sure that bigfoot over there wouldn't notice or mind one single gnome, afterall he was quiet and conservative with resources. He shook the thought aside as he kept pushing the book towards the end of the table.

The book had started to topple over the edge, the gnome had miscalculated how it would fall. Instead of falling into the vacant chair the book bounced off of the side of it and landed flat on the ground with a loud, compromising **_slap_ **. The gnome's short life had flashed before his eyes. He remembered how his husband looked when he was banished, how his first wisdom tooth had come in, his first run-in with the golf people. He'd lived quite some life.

Panicked, the gnome looked at Stanley to make sure he was still taking his surprise nap. He had stirred slightly, but otherwise seemed to be sound asleep. The gnome let out a sigh of relief and hopped down from the table, then from the chair. He pushed the journal with all of his might as it was quite heavy for his tiny arms. It took him about 5 minutes of heavy pushing to get it over to fridge he was trying to open. He restacked the magazines on top one-by-one and climbed up his stairway to victory.

He could practically hear angelic singing as he opened the fridge door. With a small leap and a little bit of struggling, the gnome had gotten onto the shelf in front of him. He eyed the contents which were mostly moldy vegetables and opened a container with a pristine leafy green in it. He ate some of the leaves and he felt as if he were in heaven, only to be interrupted by Stanley standing up. He hid behind the container of green veggies as Stanley scratched his head. He looked a bit confused, searching the mess on the table for something. The gnome realized it must be the book that he took.

He started to walk towards the kitchen when the knot in his shoelaces had tripped him. He scrambled a little, but didn’t fall. Grumbling to himself about his own forgetfulness, he untangled his shoelaces and continued on his way. Stanley fumbled around the kitchen for a bit before deciding he wanted food. He walked over to the fridge only to realize it had been open for God knows how long. However he had tripped, again, over the pile of books as he had gotten there, fallen into the door of the fridge, and his tumbling body slammed it shut.

"Holy shit!" Stanley yelled to the invisible force of gravity as he hit the tile floor with a smack, while his wrist had broken his fall. He rubbed around it with his other hand before he stood back up using the counter next to the fridge to assist him.

"Ugh, God. Why are these here?" He sighed as he bent over to pick up the literature littered on the floor. They were science research and fashion magazines, as well as his brother's journal. He put the magazines on the counter and the journal under his arm.

The hungry man opened the fridge and grabbed the first thing he saw, which happened to be a container full of spinach and he then closed it. He didn't notice the shivering gnome behind it, though. The gnome took that chance and dashed out of the fridge when it was 3/4 of the way closed and fell to the floor. He landed on his feet which stunted his ankles, he hissed in pain as he sped to under the nearest counter to inspect the damage. It didn't look too bad, but he couldn't be sure. As the gnome gripped his pained ankle, Stanley looked around. He must've heard him.

Stanley put the book and the spinach down on the counter and looked around him. Whatever had gotten to Ford must've started to get to him. He shook off the thought, opening the spinach so he could consume it. Right about now was the worst possible time for a certain gnome's tiny tummy to rumble, so of course that's exactly what it did. Stan jumped a little bit but resumed his actions. As he was washing off the spinach he heard the sound again. Brief, low grumbling. He thought maybe it was himself at first but it sounded like it was to the right of him. He probably would’ve been able to feel it if it was him, but then again his body is always making weird noises he can’t control.

Stan set his plate and book back down at the table he'd fallen asleep at. He was ready to get back to business decoding this impossible book that his brother had oh so generously provided him to crack. He couldn't find keys or legends or anything pertaining to this in his brother's study, lab, or bedroom. He thought maybe the words in alphabets he could read had been anagrams or hieroglyphs but he couldn't crack them. He busted out his paper that he'd been writing down his decoding endeavors in and got back to work. He had only just started when he heard a thump from the kitchen. He knew he couldn't've just imagined it, so he got up and began to creep towards the offensive noise.

Stanley had reentered the kitchen and saw a knife on the counter. He picked it up, thinking it would be good for self-defense from whatever had been in this God-forsaken house. He looked around. Nothing abnormal had been in sight, but he heard another sort of thump and a low groan. He spun around quickly, pointing the knife at the intruder.

"What's that? Who's there?!" he spat. His weapon hadn't been pointed at anything. He thought for sure he'd see whatever was there. He heard another noise. It sounded like someone clearing their throat.

The gnome felt a little gutsy so he decided to make himself known. Better now than ever, he had little to lose. He cleared his throat and looked up to the giant in front of him.

"Hey! Giganto! Down here!" he yelled up.

Stanley looked down and saw the weirdest goddamn thing he'd ever seen. Was it a wind-up toy? No, it couldn't've been. It was too realistic and it had nothing to wind.

"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself mostly with a confused, contorted grimace on his face.

He then quickly remembered a footnote in Stanford's journal: Gnomes. They like to hang around Unicorns. They were dangerous, so gnomes should be too. He slowly but cautiously raised his knife and struck at the offensive gnome.

"Woah! Hey, buddy!" he jumped as Stanley tried to stab him.

"Let's just," he scurried out of the way, "talk it out!" Another lunge with the knife sent him to back under the counter. He wasn't hurt but his self-esteem was.

"What are you doing, little man?" Stanley demanded, crouching down to get at the little dude. He still had his knife and was clutching it with the purpose of consoling himself, for the most part.

"I was trying to find shelter and food after my village kicked me out. Sorry!" he retorted sarcastically. He stuck his tongue out at Stan, who wasn't having any of this. Stan snarled at him and reached his arm under the counter to get at him. His arm was too wide so he retracted it with a dissatisfied grunt. 

The gnome's choice of words struck, be it a late reaction, a chord with him. He remembered being kicked out of every state, barred from ever returning, and finally the first time he was kicked out as a teenager. He felt empathetic for the little man.

"At least buy me dinner first before you move in." He said jokingly. He put his knife down and sat.

"Kicked out? I get it." he sighed, leaning his chin in his palm. The gnome didn't respond and only moved further back in the space under the counter. He was afraid of Stanley, though it's quite understandable given that he'd tried to stab him a minute or so ago. "If you tell me why, I'll let you stay here. I'm sure I can afford to feed one gnome." There was no response.

After half a minute was up, the gnome finally spoke. "I did some serious crimes in order to feed my family. I couldn't just let them starve and suffer." he admitted. He felt a little more comfortable in this home however still on edge.

"I feel 'ya. You've gotta do what you've gotta do." he said sympathetically. Stanley leaned back against the fridge and looked at the dark space underneath the counter. "You got a family? Can you tell me about them?" he asked patiently.

The gnome shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't in a good position with them as of now. "Just a husband and a kid. Their names were Shmebulock and Shmebulock, jr." he explained. He started to come out from his hiding spot.

"Do you have a name? Mine's Stan." he said. He offered his pinky under the counter to him so he could shake it.

He took his finger and shook it, "Dave." He crept out from under the counter. Dave presented himself anew to Stan. He took the time to straighten out his wrinkled shirt and he assumed a decent posture as to impress him, then took a seat on the floor next to him.


End file.
